Winter Rose
by Dancing Tiger
Summary: "The battlefield is like winter- bleak, dreary, despair surrounding everything. Blood is as common in the battlefield as snow is in winter. But what the surprise when you find a sole rose, waiting there for you, surviving against the odds, and proving that a heart does beat somewhere in the landscape of defeat and death"
1. Chapter 1:Slow to Die

**A new story I am starting, due to inspiration striking. Terrible writers block on To Pride the Humble, I'm sorry. But here is a story I hope you'll like- as for the summary, you'll have to read to find that one out :) Enjoy!**

The last thing Soap remembered before the immense pain and the plummeting down to earth was a sound. An explosion. Large, white, yellow and orange flashes, ripping through the canvas of the earth, shredding sound and brick like paper. The smell of gunpowder and blood burned at the inside of Soap's nose, making his eyes water as it stung, despite the fact it was something he was accustomed to. The disappointment that Makarov had been in his sights. But then the explosion, the falling had come. Slow for a split second, and then there was life sped up, fast forward. He hit the ground like a ragdoll, sharp shards of woodwork impaling him, sinking into his flesh through the thick clothes he donned.

The pain flared up like a strike of lightning throughout his entire abdomen within mere seconds, making him want to throw back his head and scream, but his muscles were locked. Paralyzed from the pain, the sweat making streaks of white, cutting through the grime that blanketed his face. Of course, to add more color to the scene was the bright crimson flowing from his stomach, where most of the pain was centered.

Gritting his teeth together, Soap watched with blurry vision as Price ran up to him, the world shaking as hands shook him as well. No sound came through to Soap's ears except a damaged, screeching ring of gunfire. Nothing made sense, everything confused him, but the pain was clear as day. That was all that consumed him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself to his feet, vision clearing, and blood spilling beneath him. A pool of red, a puddle of death and tainted copper.

Groans ripped through the air as Soap grunted from the pain, the sudden burden everything on him weighed. His gun, suddenly a hundred pounds. His clothing, leaden restraints. But somehow his feet moved, his seizing muscles loose enough for him to be dragged along, most of his mass on Price's shoulder. He grunted, moaned, and tried to focus on all but the ringing and pain. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever tried.

The toil of his task increased by each footstep, his body slowly seeming to melt as the blood, the essence of life, poured out of him like sand. Soap pulled along, trying to recall memories of the family he used to have, whatever was left in his weak memory. The lives of old friends, a life he could have chosen had not he chosen a lifestyle of war. A family, warmth in his heart, the smell of warm food in the oven. But instead, he was here, blood seeping from his body, gunpowder stuffed in his senses, the ice in his heart colder than the Antarctic. But on these moments of contemplation, Soap knew this was happening because the life drained from his body.

War was about to take him, just as it had taken many men under him before. Roach, Ghost, Royce, Meat, maybe Archer and Toad. Now it was his turn to be added to the list of casualties, a letter of condolences sent to whoever might remember him, or care. But Soap knew that he had to let this mission live out to its end, even if he might not himself.

The blood trailed behind him, he could see that as he was dragged along, his feet having given out, all of his hope and life resting on Price. The few things he remembered from the past few minutes rose to his mind. Makarov knew Yuri. How? What was happening? Kamarov, the explosion, Makarov's voice over the radio. With the pain brainwashing him, Soap couldn't make two ends meet. His vision was cleared, but his hearing wasn't worth shit anymore.

Price dropped him down on the pavement, and judging by the moistness of his uniform, and the odd, floating sensation drifting sensation fogging his brain, Soap knew the blood loss was getting to him. The end was near. Yet he grabbed his pistol in shaking hands, loaded it, and looked around, waiting for the enemy. _If these bastards are gonna kill me, I won't go down without a fight. _But there was no fight left for him. Yuri and Price took care of the last enemies while Soap laid back, two of the people around him picking him up into their arms. Things were a cloud now, yelling, gunfire, screaming, his body being tossed and turned, the blood spilling in buckets over every surface he passed. Eventually his body was slammed down on a table.

Hands pushed down on his abdomen, Price shook him, the face of the man he cared for so much drifting in and out of his muddled vision. Soap was fighting with his last bit of strength, his final inner strength, just to stay awake. He had to get a few more words out as blood seeped from his body, sapping his strength. The ticking of his heart surely not to last much longer.

There was desperation in Price's voice, begging Soap to stay awake. The words weren't all clear, but Soap knew the meaning. It meant Price, the steady man, the rock of all, was begging, pleading, just for Soap to cling with them. That he would get them out. This time, Soap knew it was a lie. He had been injured before. But this was different. His strength was going, dying along with him. His breaths came shorter, and Soap just wanted to close his eyes and forget it all. The war, the pain that flared in him, all of just to go away. Unfortunately there was more to it. There was so much to be said; so much Soap thought that he was going to be able to get out into the open before he bit the dust. But now, sorrow and regret that he didn't get to say all that he wanted swirled in his stomach.

Clinging to a last bit of hope, Soap remembered his promise to himself minutes before. The war was still most important, the fate of the earth. They couldn't have men on the inside fouling with plans, threatening to destroy just what might save the earth. So, with what felt like his final breaths, Soap grunted out the final words that he would speak to Price. His chest heaved with the effort, pain almost taking him for good as he spoke in labored breaths.

"Makarov… Knows… Yuri." And with that, Soap laid back his head, and closed his eyes. Everything around him turned to black, and the last of regret slipped away. Price snarled and screamed, but then calmed himself with a breath. A pistol lay on Soap's chest as Price and Yuri walked away, Price dealing with Yuri the way that anything needed to be done.

If Soap had known the outcome, he might not have wasted his last words on that. But he hadn't known. He was only serving his world as best as he knew how.

Meanwhile, only a few miles away, an Army Platoon was being separated by enemy fire.


	2. Chapter 2:Oh Darling!

**Yes, a female OC. Do not be alarmed by this fact... not every female has to fall in love with the task force boys. Give it a shot, will you?**

Gunfire surrounded them, echoing like a thunder in Jenny's ears. Her short cropped hair finally felt breeze through its roots as the hot wind from nearby explosions stirred the air around her, her cap whipped away by unknown forces long ago. Her soot encrusted hands shook as the gun fired on fully automatic, her back to that of Sergeant Walters, as they both fired in unison at the enemies that surrounded them.

Jenny could hardly hear, everything so loud she thought that her ears might burst from the weight and pressure, at the same time heat threatened to sear her skin to pieces. Try as she might, tears streamed down her face. She had enlisted, yes, only a young girl. Just reaching twenty four now, Jennifer Darling knew that she would want to do anything to service her country. Of course, before the dangers of this current war, women like her would never have been allowed to do such a thing, go right up to the front lines and be in such vigorous work. But now, the fighting forces would take anyone they could.

Troops were dropping like flies, but Jenny had understood those risks when she joined up. She wasn't stupid. Actually, she was anything but. That's why she was a medic- she had done schooling enough to be a nurse, then some extra battlefield stuff, then signed up for the army. She wanted a place on the frontlines, to be able to help all the wounded she could. But Jenny's ambitions weren't turned down. After just a few weeks of training, she found herself holding a gun, shipping out with a platoon full of guys to hell.

Or at least, that's how it felt to Jenny. Burning in the day, freezing at night. Explosions and firing wreaking havoc upon her sanity each and every day, her fingers gripping the gun with fingerless gloves, praying that whatever made those sounds didn't come and get her.

Facing combat wasn't something she was terrible at. It was necessary to her. If she needed to get to a wounded man, she would pull up a gun, get together a few people, and go take out whoever stood in her way. They called her an angel with a gun, because she saved lives every day, all of those mortally injured or even minorly wounded, an angel for many dying men. Yet, she could wield a gun just as good as any of the men she saved and worked beside.

Jenny was proud to have this claim, but didn't flaunt it. She counted it as her job, as did the thousands who died counted it their job to protect and serve their country. Jenny didn't plan on dying, but on this humid day with a blood red sky, it seemed like a good day to die.

That fact was upped, when added to the detail most of the platoon had already been taken out over the course of an hour, enemy ambushes and gunfire, hidden pockets of people they didn't see taking out a few of her best friends by surprise. Usually the battlefield was no time for tears, but with only two men and herself left, surrounded by enemies, she thought tears were the least of her worries.

Grime coated her face, tears making rivets down her skin, and a cry to her left whimpered out above the gunfire as one of her best friends over these hard months was struck down, blood erupted in a spray, hitting Jenny across the face.

She let out a yell, the anger at these evil men for killing her friends, endangering her country and lives everywhere, the call for vengeance tearing out of her lungs like a bat out of hell. Jenny's hands clasped over the weapon, and she shot round after round, pumping lead, or whatever the hell her ammunition was made of, into whoever was shooting at her and the last man standing in her platoon.

The feeling that she was not alone ended when a huge shape shot through the sky, and she hardly had time to yell out "RPG!" and scatter before it hit, slamming into the earth and blowing everything around her to smithereens. The tremor tore through the earth like the entire planet was shaking, and Jenny knew her world was. Red stained her vision as she was shoved to the ground by the impact, screams of the affected echoing the air, the sound rising above that of collapsing brickwork.

Coughing with surprising force, Jenny got up, looking around, calling for her last partner in combat. There was no response to her cries. She screamed, and looked around for her weapon, realizing that it was nowhere to be found. The explosion had decimated everything for as far as her eye could see, both friendly and the enemy. The desolate wasteland that now lay before her wasn't even recognizable as the place she fought in moments earlier.

Other than slight pain on her forehead, Jenny realized she was fine. Scraped and bruised, but those had stopped counting as injuries to her long ago. Coming from a life where she dug bullets out of men without any anesthetic as part of a daily ordeal, a scraped knee counted as a minor offense. With the devastation that surrounded her was so awful, the next thought that came to mind was how in the world she was still alive, seemingly the last person alive for as far as she could see.

Looking around, Jenny saw that she was actually out in the open, still rocked to the ground for the explosion, but nothing hit her other than the earth around her. Groaning slightly with the weight of all of this around her, she pulled herself together to her feet, and swallowed. The tears had stopped, and her lungs heaved, attempting to draw in oxygen through the dust laced air. Pulling the collar of her uniform over her mouth, she breathed with less effort, and eased herself into some of the rubble surrounding the area.

Stepping over bodies, Jenny surveyed the wreckage, realizing that her first assumptions were correct-not a living soul was left in the vicinity, except for her. Like a storm, loneliness and fear crept up in her gut, like a force about to swallow her. For the first time, Jenny was truly alone. Desperately, she felt for her backpack, only to find she had the smallest pack with her, a pouch around her waist. The last things that she had to help her survive. Jenny's gun was gone, and she didn't bother searching for it. She passed a dead body, crushed by rubble, but the gun still intact.

With a grunt, she hefted it from his death claws, feeling it in her hands. It was loaded, and she picked up a few clips from the dead man as well. They definitely came well prepared to a fight, and for once, Jenny was glad of this. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face as she realized one of their best plans, something that took much money and planning, was finally going to backfire. Now she had protection, and she was armed with additional ammunition that would last her as long as she needed.

_But where do I go? _She thought with despair, using a booted toe to kick a piece of rubble. It clattered from the middle of its pile to the ground, rolling a pace or two before it came to a stop at a rut in the ground. The tears rose in Jenny's eyes again, but she shoved them down as she started walking in the direction where she heard gunfire from. It was far in the distance, possibly quite a few miles, but it was worth it.

One last regroup before she left the area, Jenny checked the pouch around her waist. In it there was two shots of morphine for major medical issues, two rolls of gauze, one roll of medical tape, a flare, a pair of tweezers, and a small but sharp knife. She sighed. It would have to be enough for now.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her heart and stomach, then walked towards the fire that she heard in the distance.


End file.
